Serendipity
by IndubitableInk
Summary: A series of drabbles. Pairings: SatoRisa, some DaiRiku. Newest chapter summary: Risa suggests an unconventional method when Satoshi has a bit of trouble dealing with Valentine's Day.
1. Coffeepot

**A/N**: Written for the prompt 'coffeepot'. Betaed by the awesome Fanuilos.

**Spoilers**: None.

**Characters**: Risa Harada and Satoshi Hiwatari, mention of Riku Harada.

**Disclaimer**: Yukiru-sensei owns the manga, the characters, and all the rights. I just like to play with the characters.

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><p>The steady drip of the coffee mingled with the gurgling of the percolator, filling the dim kitchen with a steady, comforting hum and the rich smell of roasted coffee beans.<p>

Risa swung the cabinet door open and rose to the balls of her feet, stretching to reach the top shelf and the coffee mugs that sat upon it. Her fingers closed around a mug and as she set it on the counter, she glanced over at her schoolmate.

He sat on a barstool, his crossed arms resting on the cold granite countertop of the kitchen island. His chin propped on his forearm, he stared into the coffeepot sitting inches from his face. Intense concentration drew his brows together and Risa idly wondered what it was about the brewing coffee he found so enthralling.

She turned away. When she had inquired after his health earlier that day, he had declared he was fine, but the dark circles under his eyes told her otherwise. Even if he would not admit it to himself, he was sick. She sighed and stuck out her tongue. He could be annoying, that boy. If idiots did not catch colds, it stood to reason that geniuses did. Even if they refused to acknowledge it.

Reaching up into a cabinet for a second mug, she glanced at him again. His gaze was on the coffeemaker, but his thoughts were probably miles away, solving some complex problem that had baffled intellectuals for centuries. Either that, or he had fallen asleep with his eyes open, and she found it hard to believe that Hiwatari-kun would ever let himself do that.

Risa plunked the pair of mugs down on the island. "Really, Hiwatari-kun, you're sick. I can tell. You're just not your usual self." She peeked in the sugar bowl and, finding it empty, strode to the pantry and rummaged about. "You should take better care of yourself. Get some rest tonight, 'kay? I'll finish up our project this evening; you don't have to worry about it." Emerging, she began to refill the sugar bowl. "If I need any help, I'll ask Riku. You should go home and rest." She looked up, waiting for his reply, and then tacked on, "But not until you've finished your coffee."

He made no response; not even an eyelash flickered to show he heard her.

Risa made a face. "Are you even listening to me?" Her hands went to her hips. "You're not, are you?" Her lips pursed and she muttered under her breath, "Stupid genius."

Hiwatari-kun showed no sign of life.

Throwing caution to the wind, Risa burst into a random song, flinging her arms about dramatically.

Still no response from her blue-haired classmate.

She huffed a sigh and let her arms fall to her side. He was completely zoned out; it was as though he was not in the room. "Or even the same universe," she grumbled. She stalked to the side of the island opposite him and mimicked his posture. Arms crossed at exactly the same angle, chin resting in the same place, eyes staring deep into the coffeepot.

After a few seconds, her gaze flickered from the trickling coffee to Hiwatari-kun. Though veiled by the curved sides of the coffeepot and his own glasses, the vibrant blue of his eyes was nearly startling. But, Risa saw, they were distant: unfocused, inattentive. It was odd seeing eyes normally alert and penetrating, so far and vague. Dreamy, she thought, and then laughed to herself. Had she not heard one of the girls in their class describe his eyes as such just that morning? Though she knew the girl had not meant it in the same way, Risa found the wordplay amusing. Still, how could anybody tell what his eyes were like when they were always hidden behind glasses?

His eyes were– She turned her concentration to the stream of coffee, feeling almost confused. Why in the world was she thinking about his eyes?

"Caramel," he mumbled. "Coffee and caramel."

Startled, she looked past the dripping coffee and found that the very eyes she had been thinking about were now focused, in all their intensity, on hers. Eyes widening, she froze.

"Or cinnamon," he amended.

He had her full attention now.

"They're like chocolate laced with cinnamon."

What was he talking about? Could he– No. He could not be talking about _her_? About her eyes? She swallowed and pushed the thought from her head. That was impossible. Completely impossible. Mustering a semblance of nonchalance, she spoke up. "What did you say, Hiwatari-kun?"

He sat up, blinking as though rising from a stupor. "I'm sorry; did you say something, Harada-san?"

Had he been sleep-talking? Had he really been asleep with his eyes open? Fighting rising stupefaction, Risa repeated, "What did you say, just before now?"

His head tipping sideways a fraction, he looked at her quizzically. "I am afraid I do not follow you. Did I say something?"

Her eyebrows rose even higher before she composed herself and shook her head. "Never mind, Hiwatari-kun. I probably imagined it."

She was rewarded with a slightly bewildered expression and began to wonder if Hiwatari-kun was the only one who was sick. Hiwatari-kun, bewildered? She must be delirious.

"Never mind," she repeated, looking around for something normal, unable to disconcert her. "I think the coffee is ready."


	2. Dynamo

**A/N**: Written for the prompt 'dynamo'. Betaed by the awesome Fanuilos.

**Spoilers**: None.

**Characters**: Satoshi Hiwatari and Daisuke Niwa, mention of Risa Harada and Krad.

**Disclaimer**: Yukiru-sensei owns the manga, the characters, and all the rights, of course. I just like to borrow the characters sometimes.

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><p>"Hiwatari-kun? Are you all right?"<p>

Satoshi jerked upright. The room titled wildly — or was that his head spinning? — and he collapsed back onto the couch with a muffled groan. Peering out from under half-closed lids, he saw Niwa bending over him.

"Hiwatari-kun?" His friend's voice changed from hesitant concern to outright alarm.

Sitting up much more cautiously, Satoshi squinted first at the boy hovering nearby and then around the dim living room. He removed his glasses and ran a hand over his face. "I'm fine," he said, and took a deep breath to counter a yawn. "Just a bit tired."

"Just a bit?" Niwa half-laughed, sounding more anxious than mirthful. "You fell asleep in the middle of the conversation. Are you sure you're all right?"

"What time is it?" Satoshi asked, evading the question. Mentioning Krad would only worry his friend more.

"Nearly six o'clock."

He winced as the red-haired boy flipped on the overhead lights.

"The Haradas left a little while after you fell asleep." Niwa paused, then added as an afterthought, "You've been sleeping for almost two hours."

At that, Satoshi's squinting eyes shot open, much to his regret. Pain in the guise of light shot through his pupils, causing him to flinch. Covering his face with his hand, he leaned back against the couch and watched neon spots dance on the back of his eyelids. How had he managed to fall asleep? For him to have let his guard down in the Niwa house, of all places, was confounding.

He peeked out from beneath his hand as Niwa sat down cross-legged in front of the couch and leaned forward, resting his chin on the cushions much like a dog would. "After we came home, you just fell asleep. Did Harada-san tire you out?" He smiled a bit ruefully. "She probably dragged you all over the mall."

His friend was not far off in his estimation. Satoshi smirked at the memory of the girl's exuberance."She is a dynamo, that one."


	3. Piano

**A/N**: Written for the prompt 'piano'. Betaed by the lovely Fanuilos, the Risa to my Riku.

This drabble is centered around music dynamics. I tried to weave in explanations, but if I wasn't clear enough or you'd like to know more about dynamics, I suggest checking out the Wikipedia page.

**Spoilers**: None, but hints of Satoshi holding romantic feelings toward Risa. (Which was a pleasure to write. However, subsequent drabbles will be a little more platonic.)

**Characters**: Risa Harada and Satoshi Hiwatari. Mention of just about everyone: Dark, Riku Harada, Daisuke Niwa, Takeshi Saehara, Ritsuko Fukuda.

**Disclaimer**: Yukiru-sensei owns all rights. I own only this combination of words and the effort I put into arranging them.

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><p>A loud, plastic clatter disrupted the semi-quiet schoolroom chatter. Satoshi glanced from his book to the blue binder lying open on his desk and then up to note the perpetrator of the disturbance.<p>

"I've got it!" The younger Harada twin leaned her hands against his desk, a gleeful, eager expression on her face. "You're piano!"

With a soft exhalation, he closed his book. She was obviously expecting him to ask her what she meant, so he humored her. "Pardon?"

"You're piano," she repeated, venting her apparent enthusiasm by bouncing on her toes.

He put out a hand to steady his desk. "Am I?"

She nodded vigorously. "Yup. Niwa-kun is mezzo-piano and Riku is mezzo-forte. You're piano."

He began to comprehend her meaning. "You are talking in terms of music dynamics?"

"Yes," she said, leaning forward with near-comical zeal. "When we were talking about dynamics in music class, Sensei suggested we think of the dynamics as personalities. Piano means soft, forte means strong, and mezzo-piano and mezzo-forte mean moderately soft and moderately strong. Riku and Niwa-kun fit for the mezzos, but I wasn't sure who was piano. Then I thought of you." She grinned at him, obviously pleased with herself.

"I see." Satoshi looked down at the binder and scanned the page of neat handwriting, then pointed to a single curling _f_. "Have you thought of someone for forte?"

"Saehara-kun," she replied promptly.

Satoshi's eyebrows rose and the corner of his mouth twitched. "Ah." The boisterous, forceful boy was an apt choice for a dynamic that denoted loudness. Finger trailing over the page, Satoshi sat back in his seat and considered his schoolmate. "What about you, Harada-san? Which dynamic fits you?"

Her eyebrows drew together. "I've been thinking about it, but I can't settle on one. I think I skip around too much."

He tipped his head in thought. It was true. Most would regard the younger Harada twin as loud, for she was talkative and lively, but she had many different aspects to her character. Yes, she was outgoing, but she was also thoughtful and cunning, as displayed in her schemes to see Dark. She could be demanding and manipulative, but she was also generous and friendly. Satoshi was continually intrigued by her sometimes confusing mix of childishness and startling maturity. There really was no dynamic that encompassed the extremes that she so elegantly combined.

He finally nodded. "I do not believe there is a dynamic that can express your personality, Harada-san."

Smiling, she bobbed her head in acknowledgement and glanced down at her binder. A sudden giggle broke from her lips and she clapped a hand across her mouth.

Satoshi raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Oh, it's nothing much," she hurried to explain. "Your finger was on the sforzando. I think that would fit Dark-san."

Satoshi barely repressed a smirk. "He is persona of the sudden, isn't he?"

She giggled and gave a quick nod in the affirmative. "Sudden and dramatic, that fits Dark-san exactly." She glanced down at her watch and gasped. "Oh! I'm walking home with Ritsuko and we were supposed to meet at the shoe lockers two minutes ago!" She tucked her binder under her arm and glanced around to make sure she had everything.

"See you later, Hiwatari-kun," she called over her shoulder as she rushed for the door.

Eyeing the now-empty entrance pensively, he rested his chin on his thumb, index finger pressing against his lips. "Sforzando makes piano inaudible," he said quietly and picked up his book. He found his place, but his eyes drifted back to the doorway. Beneath his hand, a smile formed.

Though sforzando was louder than piano, it was an accent and thus only momentary.

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><p><strong>AN**: _Dynamics: Dictionary Edition_ in a nutshell.

Sforzando (_sfz_): suddenly louder; with sudden emphasis.

Piano (_p_): soft or softly; quiet.

Forte (_f_): loud or loudly; strong.

Mezzo piano (_mp_): moderately soft.

Mezzo forte (_mf_): moderately loud


	4. Festive: Pumpkin

**A/N**: Written for the festive prompt 'pumpkin'. Betaed by Fanuilos, who has a wonderfully sarcastic red pen.

My fanfiction writing/editing will be on hiatus for the month of November, because I am doing NaNoWriMo. Instead of borrowing other authors' worlds, I'll be off on an adventure with my own original characters. See you in December!

**Spoilers**: None.

**Characters**: Risa Harada, Takeshi Saehara, and Satoshi Hiwatari.

**Disclaimer**: Yukiru-sensei owns all rights. I own only this idea and the effort I put into writing and editing it.

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><p>Humming softly to herself, Risa swept her paintbrush over a backdrop for the class play, industriously filling in the lines of a pumpkin carriage. When the strokes grew faint, she dipped the brush in the paint pan that balanced on a middle step of a ladder she had appropriated to use in lieu of a table. As she withdrew the brush, her arm bumped the side of the ladder, jostling the nearly full bucket of paint perched on its top. She uttered a cry of alarm and darted forward to steady the bucket. Though she stabilized it successfully, her elbow caught the edge of the pan of paint, flipping it off the step. She grabbed at it wildly and managed to catch it by hugging it to her chest.<p>

Complete disaster averted, she let out a breath she had not realized she had been holding. Then, as the result of her actions sank in, she winced in anticipation of the mess she had surely made of her shirt. Ever so slowly, she peeled the foil pan away from her chest and looked down to survey the damage.

Orange paint coated her front and dripped down to the floor in viscous streams. She grimaced at the sight of the sticky mess. Carefully setting down the newly emptied pan, she grabbed a rag and began dabbing at her shirt.

Hearing someone laugh, she looked up and was nearly blinded by a flash.

Her classmate Saehara lowered his ever-present camera from his face. "So you're going to be in the play, Harada-san?"

She stared at him, spluttering in shock and indignation, then stepped toward him threateningly. "How dare you take a picture of me!" She raised an accusatory finger, her other hand fisting at her side. "That's cruel and I— I— W-what?" Her fulmination stuttered to a stop as she tried to make sense of what he had said.

"How should I phrase the caption for the school paper?" he asked, laughing. He posed dramatically, hand underlining invisible words as he envisioned the bold print. "'Risa Harada cast in the play as the pumpkin'?"

Her bewildered frown changed to an irate scowl. "Why, you—!" she sputtered.

Hiwatari chose that moment to come hurrying towards them, his arms stacked high with boxes. Before either of his classmates could perceive the imminent danger and call out a warning, he bumped into the ladder, sending it toppling in the direction of Saehara.

Hiwatari gave a surprised grunt. "Look out!"

The self-proclaimed reporter let out a startled yelp and jumped out of the reach of the ladder, unconsciously dropping his precious camera in his panicked rush. The ladder clattered harmlessly to the floor, but neither Saehara nor his camera could escape the cascade of paint. The rush of orange splattered both boy and device to the detriment of both.

The following shocked silence was broken only by a muted rattle as the paint can rolled across the floor and came to a stop in a puddle of sticky color.

A muffled giggle quickly escalated to a full-out laugh. "Who's the pumpkin now?" Risa taunted merrily.

Deaf to her teasing, Saehara uttered an anguished wail. "My camera!"

"I apologize," Hiwatari said. "I was not aware the ladder was so close." He deposited his boxes in a spot clear of paint and picked up the splattered camera. As he straightened, there was a click and flash. "Oh," he said, sounding slightly surprised, "was that the shutter button?" Grabbing a nearby rag that had somehow avoided the two fateful spills of color, Hiwatari began wiping paint from the expensive device.

Saehara's face twisted with concern, a comical expression, given that his features were entirely coated with orange. He wiped his hands on a patch of his pants that had miraculously escaped the paint. "Here, here, give it to me," he demanded, reaching out.

Hiwatari yielded the camera to the reporter, who took it gingerly, cradling it in his hands as though it was an injured baby animal. Without removing his eyes from the endangered equipment, Saehara lectured, "You have to clean cameras carefully." He hurried off, muttering something about delicate lenses and stupid, clumsy geniuses.

Watching the retreat of her paint-covered classmate, Risa stifled a burst of giggles. "Sweet revenge," she chuckled, eyeing the trail of orange droplets the vibrant reporter left behind. At the sound of a rattle, she checked her mirth and turned to see Hiwatari finish righting the ladder and begin to straighten the rest of the disaster.

She tilted her head to one side, considering him. Even with boxes distorting his vision, for Hiwatari to bump into something as large and obvious as a ladder was nearly unbelievable. From all Risa knew of him, he was extremely agile, almost surprisingly so, making this unprecedented lack of dexterity quite remarkable.

"Harada-san?"

Realizing she had been caught staring, she fought a blush. "Ah, yes, Hiwatari-kun?"

"You should try to salvage your clothes." He gestured to her paint-soaked garments.

"Oh. Yes." She glanced down and noticed, to her chagrin, that her shirt was stiff with drying paint. She brushed at the orange, but with little result. Huffing a sigh, she took a step away, then paused, eyes flicking over the catastrophe. "But what about—"

"I will take care of it."

She regarded him with some surprise. Though he had perpetrated the accident, that was what it was: an accident. He was not compelled to clean it up by himself, particularly as she was at fault for leaving the paint in such a precarious place.

"Go on," he said, making what appeared to be a shooing motion.

Snickering at his uncharacteristic action, she nodded and took off for the bathroom.

With a bit of scrubbing under hot water, the paint came off Risa's skin fairly easily. She had nearly finished cleaning her hands when she heard yells echoing down the school hall. The noise, unmistakably identifiable as Saehara, grew rapidly louder, and Risa was soon able to discern his words.

"Where's my memory card? Who stole my memory card? Has anybody seen my camera memory card?"

Footsteps pounded past the girls' bathroom and the shouting faded into the distance.

Risa raised an eyebrow at her reflection in the mirror. Saehara's camera memory card was missing? How could he not know where it was? The camera had never left his hands — except once.

She thought back to the situation with Hiwatari, Saehara, the paint, and the camera. Understanding struck and her pensive face transformed as she burst out laughing. Though she had thought nothing of it at the time, she remembered Hiwatari's hand brushing his pocket after he had handed the camera to Saehara. The blue-haired boy must have slipped the memory card out of the camera while ostensibly cleaning the device.

The more she recognized the situation for what it was, the more humor Risa found. Hiwatari had _purposely_ tripped on the ladder, _purposely_ spilled paint all over Saehara, _purposely_ taken a picture, all to confiscate the desired memory card.

Risa leaned the counter, gasping for breath between bursts of laughter. "I do believe I have a fairy guardian," she gleefully informed her reflection.


	5. Festive: Valentine's Day

**Author's Note**: *peers out from under rock and waves guiltily* Er, so, it's been quite a while since my last update, or even December, which was when I told you I'd be back. I deeply apologize. I have no excuse save that life hijacked my — er, well, _life_ — and I haven't been able to write or post since. I decided to make an extra effort for Valentine's Day, but I spent so much time editing that Valentine's Day is nearly over now that I'm finally (finally, _finally_!) posting. I feel that you should know that the time I spent editing was put to good use: this drabble quadrupled in size. I very much hope that you will enjoy it. :3

Written for the festive prompt 'Valentine's Day'. Betaed by Fanuilos, who can almost instantaneously come up with solutions to problems that have plagued me for hours on end.

**Spoilers**: None.

**Characters**: Risa Harada and Satoshi Hiwatari.

**Disclaimer**: Yukiru-sensei owns all rights. I don't even own Valentine's Day. (But she doesn't either, so let's call it even, 'kay?)

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><p>"What's the matter, Hiwatari-kun?"<p>

Turning from his shoe locker to face his classmate, he wondered when someone had last been able to tell something was wrong solely by his facial expression. Was his dismay that obvious? With some chagrin, he conceded that perhaps it was. After all, he had good reason to appear distressed.

He beckoned her closer as he reached inside his locker, and she stepped towards him, expression curious. "What is it?" she asked, leaning forward a bit in an attempt to see inside.

In response, he handed her a brightly wrapped gift-box, its top submerged in curly ribbon. She took it, confusion puckering her brow. "What—" Her question cut off as he brought out another box and passed it to her. "Hiwatari-kun—" she started again, eyes widening, but before she got further a pink gift-bag emerged from the locker, then a handful of various sized and colored envelopes. Reduced to abnormal silence by his equally abnormal conduct, Harada-san watched in stupefaction as he continued to unload the contents of his locker into her arms.

"How do they all fit in there?" she asked wonderingly, craning her neck to peer into the space packed with red and pink, though still careful to balance her load of gift-wrapped chocolates and envelopes of sentiments. "That many presents in one locker—" She glanced at the lockers surrounding them, then shook her head and laughed incredulously. "It isn't possible, is it? Did you get a bigger locker?"

"They are certainly… crammed," he replied, expression wry as he selected the word. Even he had trouble comprehending how such volume of presents had been packed into such a small space.

She nodded, giggling a bit. "I knew you had some admirers, but I didn't know you were that popular. How many presents did you get, Ice Prince?"

Raising an eyebrow at the title, he gave a solitary shake of the head. "I rarely try to count so high to no purpose."

She gave a brief laugh, then rested her chin on the precarious stack in her arms. "Is that why you look so sour? Compensating for all your chocolates?"

He lifted his eyebrows. "I look sour?" Though he knew by her previous admission that he did not appear pleased by the inordinate number of presents, he hardly thought his expression deserving of the adjective.

"Oh, yes." She nodded, her rebelliously twitching mouth thoroughly ruining the effect of her lofty tone. "Quite entirely sour. Does Saint Valentine's Day not agree with you?"

Having finally unearthed his shoes, Hiwatari slipped off his indoor slippers and traded them for his street shoes. "I find it rather bothersome." He waved a hand at the profusion of presents in her arms. "And for me, it is pointless."

She cocked her head, unable to comprehend his meaning. "Pointless? It's fun."

Without responding or even glancing at her, he extracted an excessively large bag from the locker and dropped it in front of her face, topping off the pile she held.

Knocking aside the obstruction with a jerk of her head, she scowled at him until her amusement with the situation betrayed her. An increasingly less reluctant grin spread across her face as she acknowledged, "Okay, maybe it is a bit of a hassle for you since you're so popular, but other people enjoy it."

He shrugged. If the majority of the female population enjoyed giving out chocolates and letters full of starry-eyed confessions, they could at least have the courtesy to give them to men who desired the presents or who would at least appreciate the sentiments therein.

"Here, Hiwatari-kun." Harada-san made an attempt to hand over her armload, but he waved her away, saying, "I have no use for them. I do not care for sweets."

She glanced down at the gaudy riot of boxes and ribbon and her brow creased. "What on earth do you expect me to do with all this, then?"

"It does not matter to me." He adjusted his glasses and then his mouth quirked at a sudden thought. "You could attempt to resell them, I suppose."

"That's an idea," Harada-san said, hefting the lot. "I'll sell them all and we'll divide the spoils. You know," she smirked, "you can't give me an opportunity like that and expect me not to take it."

He gave a noncommittal nod. "How do you intend to use your portion?"

She sent him a exultant smile. "I'll buy you some lemonade!"

"Lemonade?" he echoed, staring at her blankly.

"Yes, lemonade," she grinned. "Maybe something sour will sweeten your mood."

Before he could quite formulate his thoughts to respond, she turned and walked away, bending backward somewhat to balance her precarious load.

Shaking his head at her oxymoronic logic, he suppressed an uncharacteristic desire to chuckle. He had no need of the prescribed lemonade: it was impossible to stay sour for long around Risa Harada.


End file.
